“It wants improvement, ma’am, beyond anything. I never saw a place that wanted so much—Argh!—improvement in my life. It is so forlorn that I do not know what can be done with it.”

“I am happy to part with some of my fine objects d’art from the batch that just came in from Karnak,” murmured Lady Bertram.

Mr. Rushworth was quick to reply with a very extremely modulated “No! Argh! Grr! I mean, no, thank you.”

“No wonder that Mr. Rushworth should think so at present,” meanwhile said Mrs. Grant to Mrs. Norris, with a smile; “but depend upon it, Sotherton will have every improvement in time which his heart can desire.”

“I must try to do something with it,” said Mr. Rushworth, “but I do not know what. Ayyywrrrooowl! Ahem. I hope I shall have some good friend to help me.”

Lady Bertram took hold of a crocodile-headed salt shaker and opened her mouth, then appeared to enter a daze.

“Your best friend upon such an occasion,” said Miss Bertram calmly, “would be Mr. Repton, I imagine.”

“That is what I was thinking of. Grr! As he has done so well by Smith, I think I had better have him at once. His terms are five guineas a day.”

“Well, and if they were ten,” cried Mrs. Norris, “I am sure you need not regard it. The expense need not be any impediment. If I were you, I would have everything done in the best style, as nice as possible. Such a place as Sotherton Court deserves everything that taste and money can do. You have space to work upon there, and grounds that will well reward you. For my own part, if I had anything within the fiftieth part of the size of Sotherton—” And Mrs. Norris went on at length about acres, garden walls, plantations, and apricot trees, ending with: “we put in the apricot against the stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree, and getting to such perfection, sir,” addressing herself then to Dr. Grant.

“The tree thrives well, beyond a doubt, madam,” replied Dr. Grant. “The soil is good; and I never pass it without regretting that the fruit should be so little worth the trouble of gathering.”

“Sir, it is a Moor Park, we bought it as a Moor Park, and it cost us—that is, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I saw the bill—and I know it cost seven shillings, and was charged as a Moor Park. Argh! Ayyrooowwl! Ahem.”

“You were imposed on, ma’am,” replied Dr. Grant: “these potatoes have as much the flavour of a Moor Park apricot as the fruit from that tree. It is an insipid fruit at the best; but a good apricot is eatable, which none from my garden are.”